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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27286471">The Siren and the Spirit</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strawberi_beri/pseuds/Strawberi_beri'>Strawberi_beri</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band), WayV (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Feels, Friendship, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mild Gore, River Styx (Ancient Greek Religion &amp; Lore), Sorry Not Sorry, but like really mild it's mentioned twice, dejun is just a tired ghost, kunhang is a ball of sunshine i luv him, not really character death but i put the warning anyway</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:07:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,495</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27286471</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strawberi_beri/pseuds/Strawberi_beri</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fated to traverse the Sea of Lost Souls forever, Dejun sings out to the spirits to guide them to judgement. One moment in time he comes across a spirit that acts more human than anything. And the spirit, in turn, teaches Dejun that there could be more than just the endless sea.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Wong Kun Hang | Hendery/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Siren and the Spirit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Very loosely inspired the river of styx but instead it's a sea. And Dejun isn't really a siren but the idea kind of fits. This is more or less word vomit tbh I just really wanted to get the idea out there. Not very happy though, but it's not super sad so please don't let that scare you.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>On a small raft there’s a small cottage, in that cottage lives </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span>. He isn’t sure what he looks like since there’s no mirror, and he doesn’t remember his last name or what he used to be. All that he knows is that he’s forever destined to float the Sea of Souls and call out to the ones seeking refuge. And so, that’s what </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> does. He leaves his small cottage every morning, the sun hanging high in the air (never leaving its same position) and he sets his pale feet into the shimmering blue ocean and he sings. The water is cool on his skin despite the heat of the sun. Sometimes, while </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> sings, he’ll stare out towards the vast blue sea and something akin to longing fills his chest. He doesn’t remember what he used to do before this—if anything at all—but occasionally he entertains the idea of maybe doing something else.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he’s lucky no lost souls will board his raft and he’ll call it a day, going back inside his modest cottage.  Today is different though. At first, </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> isn’t quite sure why. He wakes up and the Sun is sitting where it always is, high in the light blue sky, no clouds in sight. He dips his feet into the water and it’s pleasantly cool against his skin. There’s something in the deep depths below, however; that has </span>
  <span>Dejun’s</span>
  <span> curiosity piqued. Slowly, he parts his lips and starts to sing.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He isn’t sure what it is about his voice, if it even is about his voice, but it calls out to the restless souls below. Sometimes they come in droves, other times it’s just an odd one or two souls that pull themselves on board. Still, </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> watches with curiosity as small bubbles rise up and break through the surface of the water, not one soul has ever verbally responded back. This is new, </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> thinks as he brings his face closer to the surface of the water. He sings again—register lower this time. Again, more bubbles rise up.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huh.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you trying to sing,” </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> asks the water which he thinks is quite silly because the dead never answer. He really wishes they did though. “Come on, try to sing more,” he urges the spirit below as he sings out another soft melody. More bubbles rise up along with something darker. </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> watches, eyes wide and lips parted, as the dark figure swims up faster and faster. Soon enough, a face breaks through the water with wide eyes and a blood-stained forehead.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s something very wrong with the spirit though. They’re not a spirit at all. To </span>
  <span>Dejun’s</span>
  <span> horror he realizes that this boy is very much still alive.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watches as the boy casually brings his body on the raft, the water rolling off of him in droves as it rapidly dries under the sun. </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> quickly stands up and does the only thing he can think of, he places his hand on top of the taller boy’s abdomen and presses. Unlike the other guests he’s ferried, however; his palm is met with resistance. The boy is solid. </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> presses harder this time, grunting in the process, but his hand doesn’t budge.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not a ghost,” </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> whispers as he takes a step back to really look at the spirit this time. The spirit doesn’t seem to understand the odd predicament; head cocked to the side ever so slightly with his brows furrowed. “Really, I should’ve known,” </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> runs a hand through his hair, “no one’s ever sang back to me. And you’re not even transparent,” he gestures wildly to the boy, “I can’t even see through you!”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time the spirit does respond—with a laugh. It’s all </span>
  <span>warbly</span>
  <span> and faded, as if it were a mere echo through time instead of right now. </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> blinks as he finally makes eye contact with the spirit. Unlike the milky white of other travelers, the boy’s eyes are molten under the sun and seem to swirl with amusement. Any other time this stranger would be a very refreshing break to the usual mundane, silent souls, he’d ferry but right now he really needs to get it together. He shakes his head, breaking out of whatever trance the human put him under, and makes way to his cottage.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are you going,” the spirit questions as he follows closely behind. Out of the millions of souls </span>
  <span>Dejun’s</span>
  <span> ferried to the other side none have stepped foot in his cottage. None have been curious enough. But this—human—is and for some reason the idea of the spirit going into his home greatly upsets him. </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> turns on his heels, stopping in front of the door, as he pushes the spirit away.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh no you don’t, you’re staying out here while I go write a letter. You...shouldn’t be here.” Closing the door, </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> barely catches out a whispered ‘I know’. There are so many questions swirling through his head, like why is a human here? How did their soul end up here and why is it so strong? Surely, they can’t be dead. How long were they just floating in the sea? It’s all too much and </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> really wishes he could just take a nap. But no! He needs to inform his higher ups. Going to his desk, he quickly brings out a scroll and starts scribbling down a message in ink. He can’t even remember the last time he’s ever written a message (maybe a few hundred years ago) and it shows with how sloppy his penmanship is. The ink smudges on his skin as he finishes the last few sentences, underlying the ‘urgent’ just to really drive home his point. And then he places it in a wooden bowl with small, intricate carvings laced on the bottom, and sets it on fire.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watches as the dark green smoke floats up the roof and quickly dissipates until there’s nothing left but some ash. “Wow, it’s a lot bigger in here than I thought,” the spirits warm voice floats through the air. Spinning on his heels, dark hempen robe swishing behind him, </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> crosses his arms.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing in here? I told you to wait outside!”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The spirit has the gall to look hurt. </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> tries to ignore the stirring in his stomach as the boy pins him with wide, sad eyes. He’s reminded of a particularly pathetic looking child he once had to ferry over: the same wide eyes, pouty lips, and injuries akin to being run over. Now that </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> truly doesn’t have anything to do, he studies the spirit a bit. His eyes trailing from the large gash on the spirit’s forehead to the mangled left leg. The pants are torn and partially hanging off while splatters of blood seem to have dried up on his shirt and a lack of shoes.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Odd, usually most spirits die with their shoes on if it was an accident. </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> doesn’t have time to think about how the boy might’ve died though, because the spirit quickly makes itself at home as it lays on his couch.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cool, this is really soft,” the spirit yawns with a large stretch, “you got a TV around here mister reaper.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-</span>
  <span>wha</span>
  <span>—get off,” </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> grunts as he tries to pull the spirit up. But while the spirit isn’t fully dead, </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> definitely is and that means no muscles. The boy might as well weight a thousand pounds. “You’re a spirit, you’re not even supposed to get tired.” Hands covering his face, </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> groans. If he were alive, he’d definitely be in mental pain right now, but currently he doesn’t feel much of anything except annoyance.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dejun’s</span>
  <span> morning routine goes like this. He wakes up, puts on his robes, goes to the kitchen to tend to his plants, and steps outside in the sun to sing to the lost souls. And he’d sing, and sing, and sing for hours until he grows bored and calls it a day. Sometimes, he only sings for one hour and other times just fifteen minutes. As </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> leaves his room, today feeling like a very short singing day, he walks into the kitchen and feels his heart drop. Well, he imagines his heart would drop as he sees the spirit from yesterday standing in his kitchen. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The spirit briefly looks at him and then goes back to </span>
  <span>Dejun’s</span>
  <span> potted plants. “Hey! Don’t be so rough with them,” he chastises the spirit as he takes the plant and places it back on the window sill. “There, there, you’re safe now,” he whispers before kissing one of the petals. It’s silly but his humility died a long time ago. </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> watches happily as the plant seems to perk up, leaves seeming to vibrate a little before resting. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you even have plants, you’re a ghost,” the spirit comments. It’s not a biting remark but there’s some humor laced with confusion. “You are dead, right?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I am dead. Everyone here is </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be dead,” </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> replies with narrowed eyes before sighing, “but obviously you’re not. And I like the plants, they were a gift.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not often that </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> receives gifts. He got the plants too long ago. Partly because they’re thankful he’s there to ferry the spirits because no one else wanted to, and partly to stop him from succumbing to the call of the sea. At times when he stares at the green leaves and forever-budding blossoms, he thinks about the ocean and the pull of the unknown deep. He’s been here for too long, on this raft floating through time; endlessly. And then they sent the plants, not quite alive but nothing like the death he’s surrounded with, floating lazily to his wooden raft.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> ushers the spirit outside with him. “Well, since you’re still here unfortunately, I still have a job to do. So sit there and try not to...” he trails off, unsure how to finish.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get in trouble,” the spirit helpfully adds, long brown hair falling messily over his open cut as he runs a hand through it. </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> watches in minor curiosity as the spirit smiles at him, soft and kind. Unusual.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, that,” he grunts before swinging his legs over the raft.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sings out softly, tone higher this time as he slides his eyes shut. Despite feeling so relaxed, </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> never really has his guard down. He’s always alert to the sound of the sea, attuned to it if you will. He concentrates on the way the sea surrounds his feet, on the tug of an unknown current, how the Sun warms his always cold hands. Much like the residents, the Sea is as quiet and still as the rest of them. It shimmers and sparkles under the sun but there are no waves. That’s why it’s so easy to hear the spirit get closer, feet shuffling against wood, before </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> feels body heat next to him. Opening his eyes, he sees the spirit leaning a little too closely toward the water and a sad look in his eyes.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You sound really beautiful,” the spirit says as hey continue to stare into the depths below, “I heard it. All the way down there, like it called out to me specifically.” The spirt straightens up again, a wide smile on his face that has </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> in awe. Swallowing thickly, he fights the urge to ask what it’s like to be down there. Ever since he was brought here, none of the spirits held a conversation with him. He isn’t sure why he doesn’t ask, maybe he’s afraid that he might get too curious. That the sea might call out too strongly and he won't—</span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> jumps as he hears something smack against his raft.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scuttling over to one side, he sees a message in a bottle. They responded; he thinks as he scoops the bottle up. They’ve never written back so fast if at all. Gently scooping the bottle out, he unrolls the message. It’s one line in black ink.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Send him back’</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Send him back, </span>
  <span>Dejun’s</span>
  <span> thoughts repeat back to him in growing confusion. But how? He calls people onto his raft for judgement. Sending people back is the exact opposite of what he does. “Terrible advice,” he huffs as he throws the bottle out to the sea along with the message. The bottle just floats back. And </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> throws it again, distance growing farther and farther with each throw, but every time the bottle and message make its way back to him. “Okay, fine! I’ll keep the stupid message,” he growls as the tosses the bottle on board.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turns back to the spirit who hasn’t left his original spot. “So, what are we going to do,” the spirit asks like he has any power to do anything. </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> would laugh if he wasn’t so upset right now.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I guess you’ll stay...for now,” he tacks on as an afterthought. The spirit perks up anyway as he quickly pats the seat next to him. “Can you sing again?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> entertains the idea of saying no. He sung so much already, day in and day out, but there’s something about the way the spirit smiles so brightly, his eyes sparkling like precious gold, that </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> is unable to say no to. He doesn’t really want to say no anyway. And so, he sits back down next to the spirit, legs in the cool sea, and he sings softly. Every so often he’ll hear the boy next to him hum in a tune one or two octaves deeper than his, and it’s the most beautiful thing </span>
  <span>Dejun’s</span>
  <span> heard in a very long time. It’s soft, rich, and lonely.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, what do you do for fun around here,” the spirit questions one day.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dejun stops singing and stares at the spirit, eyes searching the boy’s own golden ones. Fun isn’t a concept he’s very familiar with; there’s surprisingly a lot of things he isn’t familiar with since getting to know the spirit. “I sing,” he responds eventually, taking one foot out of the sea to tuck it underneath his robes, “and I call to the spirits out at sea for judgement. Is that ‘fun’?” He tilts his head and squints slightly under the Sun’s heavy rays. The spirit doesn’t seem too pleased with the response though as he just crosses his arms and shakes his head. Briefly, the large gash on his face glistens with fresh blood before it being covered by his long hair again.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That isn’t fun! Fun is like, watching TV, or playing videogames!” The spirit sighs, plopping down beside Dejun. “This is more like,” the spirit tilts his head and strokes his chin for a moment, “a job. This is a boring job. Can’t you take vacation days or something?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ah, another concept Dejun is unfamiliar with. “Just what is a ‘vacation’?” His brows furrow at the unfamiliar word, stretching the sound out to make sure he’s pronouncing it right. “And this is a duty! No one but me can fulfill it.” Dejun finishes with a smile as his chest swells with pride. He’s been ferrying souls for as long as he can remember. It’s the only thing he can really remember. But the spirit doesn’t seem to be happy at this revelation either as they grunt and start pacing around the raft. Most souls—scratch that, every soul—that comes on board never move much or demand anything of Dejun, so he’s unsure how to react to the boy’s need for something to do. Were all alive humans this fussy? Do they need something to do at all times? It honestly seems like such an exhausting way to live.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The spirit stops then, eyes sparkling as they let out a small ‘aha’. “Do you want to dance?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dejun stares at the outstretched hand and the shiny scars around the spirit’s wrist. He wonders if he grabs on too tight if the hand will just separate from all the wounds. The spirit catches on to the blatant staring and quickly retracts his hand, covering his wrist with his other one. There’s always the question on the tip of Dejun’s tongue ‘how did you die’ but he refrains from asking. He’s asked the other spirits before but no one has ever answered back. Despite a moving mouth, Dejun thinks that this spirit will be the same.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know what dancing is,” Dejun eventually finds himself saying as the Sun changes to the moon. The dark shadows quickly envelope them in a deathly stillness.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That sucks,” the spirit says after a few moments or maybe an eternity (Dejun isn’t sure anymore), “I used to dance. I loved it.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Used to, past tense; maybe never now. Dejun bites the inside of his cheek, choosing to hold the cottage door open for the spirit to pass through.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Between one point in time and the next, </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> starts to lose track of how long the spirit is on the raft. They dance around each other; </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> giving more space for the spirit in his cottage, and the spirit in turn has a growing fondness of staring at him more. The message in the bottle lays on </span>
  <span>Dejun’s</span>
  <span> desk untouched the day it came; much like the countless letters </span>
  <span>Dejun’s</span>
  <span> never sent since that day. Slowly, he starts wondering less and less when the spirit will leave and he starts to find himself wondering what he’ll do </span>
  <em>
    <span>when </span>
  </em>
  <span>the spirit is gone.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> thinks he’ll m</span>
  <span>iss </span>
  <span>the boy’s smile the most. In the endless sea of blue he’ll miss their golden eyes. He’ll miss the natural heat radiating off of their body. He’ll miss being around something that isn’t lifeless.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know,” the spirit says one night as they lay on the raft, shoulder-to-shoulder, “we never come out here at night. How come?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> stares at the giant full moon (it’s always a full moon) as the silver light bounces off the dark sea. He’s never thought about it much. He just prefers to sing during the day when it’s warm and he can feel the sun on his face. Well, that’s not completely true. He rolls onto his side as he stares at the spirit’s face. “It’s just lonelier at night,” he admits in a whisper. He closes his eyes and thinks about the sea, the dark undercurrent, how the moon is never bright enough to light up what’s underneath the mysterious surface. “And none of the spirits want to come on board at night. I don’t know why, but none of them do.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The spirit makes a noncommittal grunt. “You haven’t gotten many since I came along,” the boy states and it’s true. </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> has been getting less and less spirits on board. Sometimes, when he sings out, he’ll see their heads break through the water but they won’t come aboard. They bob and weave in the water, milky white eyes always staring out at them, but they never step foot on. </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> wonders if it’s because they’re scared of something that isn’t fully dead. That they’ll be overcome with grief at what they used to be. </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> remembers the last spirit he ferried and the way it’s eyes would never leave their sight.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They lay in silence for a while, the still air wrapping around them in a cold embrace. </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> stares up at the moon and wonders if it’ll ever change.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s so lonely out here at night,” the spirit finally breaks the silence, “how do you do it? Even during the day, it’s so lonely. I hate the feeling.” </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> watches as the boy sits up and tucks their knees under the chin. It’s a very child-like pose and it causes something to stir in his chest, right where a beating heart would be. </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> laughs softly as he sits up as well.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thousands of years of practice. It isn’t so bad once you get used to it.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it’s true. He’s gotten too used to it. As he picks up one soul after another, he starts to lose track of what he used to be. He starts to see himself in the spirits with milky white eyes and listless souls. It’s a very lonely existence. But he’s gotten so used to it. The boy looks on him with glossy eyes but a tear never spills.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s really sad, no one should have to be lonely for so long. Don’t you miss being with others?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> manages to bite his tongue before he says ‘I have you’. He thinks that maybe the boy understands the look on his face anyway because the spirit leans closer, invading his space until all </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> call feel is the calming presence. And maybe that’s his biggest mistake, not pushing him away, because after too many </span>
  <span>forevers</span>
  <span> of not having someone, </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> finally does and he finds himself craving more. He can almost imagine what it feels like to have a beating heart. To pull the spirit closer to him and never let go. It’s addicting, exhilarating, and something he isn't allowed to have.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, you never asked my name.” It’s another warm day when the spirit brings it up. </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> pauses mid song to turn his head toward the laying boy. Now that he thinks about it, it’s true. He never bothered to ask for a name, or even why he’s here. All </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> knows is that he isn’t quite dead and he needs to leave. Pursing his lips, </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> sighs as he pulls his legs out of the water and sits with them neatly tucked under him. There’s no use in singing anymore anyways, none of the spirits want to get on. He watches as the heads dip back down into the blue sea one by one.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose that would be considered bad manners. I’m not used to having...company, that talks back,” he admits with minor hesitation, hating the way his face feels like it’s on fire as the spirit laughs. It’s not mocking, it never is, that’s why it drives </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> crazy. He isn’t sure what emotion the spirit is going through and it bothers him to no end. “Okay, fine, what’s your name spirit?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The spirit sits up and there’s a blinding smile on his face. “I’m </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span>. And who are you mister reaper?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I told you, I’m not a reaper,” </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> huffs as he rolls his eyes, “and my name is </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span>.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>At this the boy’s, </span>
  <span>Kunhang’s</span>
  <span>, eyes immediately light up as he invades </span>
  <span>Dejun’s</span>
  <span> personal bubble again. “</span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span>, are you from China? I know you look Asian and all but I didn’t just want to ask.” </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> admits with a small grin as he rubs the back of his neck.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>China? </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> cocks his head to the side. He thinks the name sounds familiar but when he tries to remember anything all that comes up is his cottage and the blue, blue sea. It’s frustrating not to remember who he used to be before—this—but now he just thinks about his past self impassively. He used to be someone alive. Hopefully with friends and a wife maybe. But that was one point in time. </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> is no longer </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> and instead he’s a ferry man for souls.</span>
  
</p>
<p> <br/><span>He stares at </span><span>Kunhang’s</span><span> shining eyes before humming. “I can’t remember much honestly. All I know is this now.” He waves out to the vastness of the sea. It doesn’t seem to be a response </span><span>Kunhang</span><span> likes though as the boy is immediately pouting, lips turned downward.</span></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t you miss it though? Being with others? I do,” </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> admits with a weary sigh. It’s so human that it hurts </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span>; just another reminder that </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> doesn’t belong here.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then why don’t you go back?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And just like that </span>
  <span>Kunhang’s</span>
  <span> golden eyes are back on him. He scoots closer to </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> who scoots backwards until his back hits the wall of his cottage. There’s something akin to thrill that shoots down </span>
  <span>Dejun’s</span>
  <span> spine as he stares into </span>
  <span>Kunhang’s</span>
  <span> burning eyes. He doesn’t know the fleeting emotions that swirl underneath the surface, but it entrances him all the same.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that what you want,” </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> asks, tongue slipping between his lips to wet them. “Do you want me to leave, </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span>?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-It doesn’t matter what I want.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Immediately, </span>
  <span>Kunhang’s</span>
  <span> eyes soften before he scoots back a little, giving </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> enough space to uncurl from his spot. Wearily, he watches the boy stretch his arms high above his head, shirt riding up to reveal pale skin marred with scratches. “I remember being alone before here. I remember how terrible it was to live everyday like that. And then I thought I could escape it.” </span>
  <span>Kunahng</span>
  <span> shakes his head softly, a small smile gracing his face. “I don’t think people are meant to be alone for so long. And if I could find a way back...” his voice trails off but </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> understands despite the silence. </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> isn’t sure why, but he wants to reach out towards </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> to remind the spirit that he’s still here. That he isn’t alone. But he doesn’t.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t be alone </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span>,” </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> finally breaths out.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay, I’ve been here for so long it doesn’t matter to me anymore.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> shakes his head, “Yeah, but you shouldn’t be if you don’t want to,” he mumbles before going back inside the cottage. </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> tries not to wince as the door closing seems to echo through the stillness of the air. He breaths in once, twice, before looking out toward the empty sea. Briefly, he thinks about singing again, but then he remembers </span>
  <span>Kunhang’s</span>
  <span> words</span>
  <span>. </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> thinks that lonely is all he'll truly know</span>
  <span>, and if he had to choose</span>
  <span>, </span>
  <span>well—he parts his lips and gets swept in a sorrowful tune.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a particularly cold night that </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> finds himself out in the water with </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span>. He hasn’t gone into the water fully since the last time he tried to...he shakes his head. He remembers that day in vague episodes. Sometimes when he’s singing, he remembers the pull of the current. When he’s wrapped up in his bed, his mind will wander into the way the water filled his lungs. It’s all blurry memories from too long ago, lost in some point in time. As </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> splashes his face though, he it doesn’t really matter. He finds himself laughing as he splashes the taller boy back. They go on like this for a few minutes, chasing each other around the floating raft as their cries of joy fill the air.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite the chill of the water </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> never finds himself fully cold. He’s mildly worried for </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> though as the boy isn’t fully a spirit so he starts to demand him to go back onto the raft. “It’s not like I can get a cold,” </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> complains but follows orders anyway. He helps </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> onto the raft as well before the water quickly rolls off and evaporates off of them, leaving their clothes and hair dry.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know,” </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> starts as he rests against the cottage, “I never got to ask, but why are there no mirrors in your house?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The same reason why there isn’t food or a toilet,” </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> responds as he stares at the small gap between his and </span>
  <span>Kunhang’s</span>
  <span> knees, “I don’t need it.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah but, like, do you know what you look like?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huh, that isn’t a thought that </span>
  <span>Dejun’s</span>
  <span> had in a while. He tilts his head to look at the inky, black sky. It’s not like looks are a big deal since dead souls don’t judge, but now that he thinks of it he wonders if he’s attractive or not. Not like it matters that much to him, but still he hasn’t seen his own face in so long. Not even the water properly reflects him. At most it looks distorted and blurry. “I guess I just learned to live without knowing? Why, am I ugly?” </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> turns to face </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> and something flickers about in the boy’s golden eyes. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> chuckles, soft and rich as he brings a hand up to brush away </span>
  <span>Dejun’s</span>
  <span> bangs. “No, pretty much the opposite. You’re so beautiful. When I first saw you I thought you were an angel instead of some lame boatman.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey! I take offense to that,” </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> huffs as he swats the hand away. </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> just laughs though before quickly returning to petting </span>
  <span>Dejun’s</span>
  <span> hair.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re so beautiful. Probably the handsomest guy I’ve seen even while alive. Your hair is just like the moon; silver and glowing. It’s so soft.” </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> tries not to preen at the praise. He lets </span>
  <span>Kunhang’s</span>
  <span> hand travel down from his hair to the side of his face. He focuses on the heat from the large hand, the way </span>
  <span>Kunahng</span>
  <span> holds him gently while his thumb slides against his cheek as if wiping away invisible tears. “Your skin is soft and beautiful, practically glowing. But not like those lame vampires,” </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> says with a small laugh.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh? Vampires?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Nevermind</span>
  <span>. Just now that you’d attract a lot of people if you were alive,” </span>
  <span>Kunha</span>
  <span>ng</span>
  <span> finishes as his hand slips away from </span>
  <span>Dejun’s</span>
  <span> face. He tries not to whine at the loss of contact. “So, what about me? I already know I’m prince-like but </span>
  <span>ya</span>
  <span>’ know, what do you think?” </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> finishes softly as he ducks his head away from </span>
  <span>Dejun’s</span>
  <span> gaze.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you’re stupid,” </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> says enjoying the way </span>
  <span>Kunhang’s</span>
  <span> head snaps towards him with an affronted look, “but you are very handsome. Although I’ve been around nothing but death so.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good enough for me,” </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> laughs as he takes </span>
  <span>Dejun’s</span>
  <span> hand, helping the shorter spirit up, “so, what do you say angel, time for bed?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> laughs as he gently nudges </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> inside. “I’m not an angel, but yes let’s go to bed.” As the door slides shut, </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> tries not to stare out of the kitchen window to the dark sea below.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The odd thing is, </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> thinks he may be happy. He wakes up with a soft smile on his face nowadays instead of a blank one. He looks forward to singing, sometimes with </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span>, and sometimes with the boy just content on listening. He forgot what it felt like to be happy but he thinks that this is probably the closest he’ll ever get. When he goes to the kitchen though, he doesn’t see </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> waiting for him. Confused, </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> walks out of the cottage and his eyes practically pop out of his head.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Surrounding the raft are tons of glass bottles of all shapes and sizes. The light from the sun reflect off and it almost looks pretty if it weren’t for a crouched </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> huddled over a handful of them. The boy’s shoulders are drooped as he hunches over it, almost guarding it. </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> slowly steps closer, gently pushing </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> away, and his heart plummets.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Out of all the opened bottles is the same phrase written on various scrolls.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Send him back’</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They want me to leave,” </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> whispers as slowly gets up on his feet. He turns to look down at </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span>, eyes glossy but tears never spilling. </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> feels his own eyes swell, less with heartache but more with what he knows he has to do. “I don’t want to leave,” </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> says as he balls up his hands, “I don’t want to leave </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span>. You won’t let me, right,” he shouts at the spirit and </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> wonders for the first time that maybe what he’s doing is selfish. He knows </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> doesn’t belong here, that he needs to go, that staying for so long has probably caused more harm than good, but </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> isn’t sure what he’d do without </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> now. And yet-</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> strokes </span>
  <span>Kunhang’s</span>
  <span> hair softly. He understands that he has a job first and foremost. And maybe that’s all he’ll ever have. Just this raft, cottage, and the endless sea.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span>. You don’t </span>
  <span>have</span>
  <span> to leave.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> wonders </span>
  <span>if lying always hurt this much.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They avoid each</span>
  
  <span>other after that. At least, </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> tries to put more distance between them. He stays outside of the cottage when </span>
  <span>Kunhang’s</span>
  <span> inside, and stays inside when </span>
  <span>Kunhang’s</span>
  <span> out. He isn’t sure how long it goes on like this but it drives him crazy to see whenever he catches sight of </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> frowning. He doesn’t miss the way the boy’s eyes track his every movements, unnerving as it may be, </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> likes the idea of knowing that he still has </span>
  <span>Kunhang’s</span>
  <span> attention. He sits and sings like usual, but his voice sounds emptier and broken. The tune is no longer sweet and the souls in the endless sea don’t even bother to make their presence known. Maybe it’s time for a new ferry person. But </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> knows they’ll never give him up that easily.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Along with messages in bottles, he starts to get more plants. They come in various vases of different colors. None of them are blue. It doesn’t matter though, he thinks as he turns each gift away, gently patting their leaves before pushing them away. Nothing will fill the void </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> will gift him once he’s gone.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> isn’t even sure how yet, but he knows their days together are drawing closer and closer to an end. The days and nights seem to fly by as they head toward their demise. But it’s better this way. </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> will go back to where he belongs and </span>
  <span>Dejun</span>
  <span> will be able to adjust to feeling lonely; in time.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>During one passage and the next, Dejun finds himself breaking the tension first. If he’s able to feel happy, then he must be able to feel sadness. And as he steps outside in the full moon’s light, he’s certain he feels it as he watches </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> stare out to the endless sea—calling. He is no ferryman though. There is no response from the souls that lay underneath as the deep timbre of his voice carries through the open air. But Dejun’s there. Slowly, he walks towards </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span>, the spirit’s body tensing a little before relaxing under Dejun’s embrace. It’s the first time they’ve ever hugged and maybe the last time.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hope is a silly little thing, easily swayed and diffused through decades of living. Still, Dejun wonders what it would be like to hope for more.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want to dance,” </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> questions softly as he turns in Dejun’s embrace, “I never showed you.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silently, </span>
  <span>Kunhang’s</span>
  <span> hand holds his left while his other hand slides over his hip. An unfamiliar tune is hummed through the air as he slowly starts to lead Dejun around the raft. The pattern is easy to remember and Dejun finds himself catching on quickly, feet going to the next placement as </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> leads. Under the moonlight </span>
  <span>Kunhang’s</span>
  <span> eyes shine the deepest shade of yellow he’s ever seen. They sparkle with warmth and tenderness that Dejun isn’t sure what to do with himself. His eyes roam over the spirit’s face, tracing the column of the boy’s throat, up towards his pale lips and staying there. He feels compelled to get closer; to feel them against his own. The sea calls out to Dejun, tugging at his psyche but then it quiets down into a low thrum.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He isn’t sure at what point in time </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> kisses him. It’s soft and sweet though and quiets the sea below. Dejun finds his arms winding against </span>
  <span>Kunhang’s</span>
  <span> neck as a rough hand tilts his chin upward. He wants to stay like this forever, under the moonlight, kissing </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> like that was the only thing he’s meant to do.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they part though and Dejun’s eyes flutter open, he leans his head against the taller boy’s chest and stares out at sea. Around the raft there are hundreds of pairs of milky white eyes staring at them. There is only one thing that Dejun is meant to do and he must return to it. He slides his eyes shut.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We could get out of here, together,” </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> says one day. Dejun brushes off the remark because he knows there is no way out for him. He thinks of the plants, of the deep undercurrent, and the pain of trying over and over again only to be denied. But as </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> kisses him, slow and deep, he thinks that maybe he’s willing to try one more time. “For me,” </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> whispers when their lips depart and curse the spirit for being so good at manipulation. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thing is though, is that Dejun doesn’t need much convincing in the first place. He isn’t sure when he’s ready for the plunge, but he finds himself staring into the sea as the moon becomes the sun. He feels the call of the undercurrent, the pull to dive in deeper and escape the only place he’s known as home, just to be with </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span>. It’s foolish—he doesn’t care. All he does is share a look with </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> before they jump in. With their hands clasped together, Dejun allows the spirit to pull him down. They pass countless souls who stare past them with blank eyes. The sea grows darker, colder, where the light of the sun cannot reach. This is the farthest Dejun’s ever gone before. He grips </span>
  <span>Kunhang’s</span>
  <span> hand tighter.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And while the undercurrent calls out to them so sweetly, Dejun realizes that they won’t let him go. Not yet. Hopelessly, he watches as </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> struggles to dive deeper but the grip on Dejun’s hand won’t let the spirit leave. The sea churns and moves but Dejun doesn’t. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> turns in the sea, hair floating around him and everything looks so blurry to Dejun. He opens his mouth and hopes the words he screams out carry to the young spirit. Dejun lets go and watches as </span>
  <span>Kunhang</span>
  <span> gets dragged down deeper and deeper. In the passage of time, Dejun floats back up after years until he can’t correctly remember how </span>
  <span>Kunhang’s</span>
  <span> smile looked. He breaks through the water and sees his raft right where he left it. Everything feels heavy and slow, the way the sun dries his robes, the way his limbs move, the way his chest heaves to cough up any water. That day he receives one present, a lovely potted plant with stunning yellow flowers. He weeps.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>On a raft in the middle of a floating sea, there’s a small cottage. In that cottage lives Dejun. He knows what he looks like, an angel, as someone once described him. And he doesn’t know where he’s going or where he belongs. He does remember, however; golden eyes and the feeling of being loved. And when he sings out, his eyes unknowingly search the sea for someone singing back</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe one day he’ll remember who he was looking for.</span>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for finishing all the way! I really like adding elements of supernatural/fantasy and the game Raft kind of inspired my idea for Dejun living on a raft lol. And if anyone is confused about the undercurrent really is, it's more of a 'portal' that leads back to the world of the living. Hence why it takes kunhang but not dejun.</p>
<p>Please share any thoughts/critiques in the comments below and have a safe day!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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